


Junkmetra NSFW (placeholder name)

by FelidArachnid



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Lust at First Sight, Masturbation, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Smut, Unrequited Lust
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 01:09:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 16,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7487469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FelidArachnid/pseuds/FelidArachnid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Symmetra's getting under his skin, and it's making Junkrat all hot and bothered (NEEDS A NEW TITLE)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> UMMM so I said I wanted to push my comfort zone so I guess this is what I'm inflicting on you all as a result of it!! There are a lot of things I'm not great with writing so I've just thrown myself in so we'll see where it goes I guess  
> There are so many great Symm/Rat fanfics and everyone has songs for theirs (esp. the amazing vargrimar and nezkah) and I'm so desperately trying to be like the cool kids so I stole all my inspiration from the song Breaking into Heaven by the Stone Roses!! Give it a listen (I have a lot of SymmRat songs bc i am helpless)

One of the most admirable things about Roadhog was the seriousness with which he took his work. It was one of the main reasons Junkrat had been so unhesitating about hiring the man; here was someone who was reliable and thorough – provided there was a sufficient paycheck involved. 

Yes, it was admirable, but it was also _annoying_. Junkrat scowled as the morning sunshine coasted across the gym, illuminating row upon row of empty machines. It wasn’t the early rising he resented so much as the gym itself; it unnerved him, with its many mirrors and weird metallic tools that almost resembled exotic torture devices. If it weren’t for his bodyguard’s dedication to his craft, he’d never want to set foot in here. 

“Hey,” grunted Roadhog to his left, and Junkrat obligingly hefted another pair of weights onto the barbell traversing Roadhog’s massive chest. He returned to squatting on his haunches, watching as Roadhog’s biceps strained and bulged against the bar. 

“You alright?” he asked.

“Fine,” puffed Roadhog between gritted teeth, slowly flexing his arms to bring the weight back down once more. “Keep an eye on it.”

“Sure.” Junkrat didn’t even think Roadhog needed a spotter – the man was so immensely powerful that he doubted if the gym even did weights up to his size – but he understood the need for company. 

He scuffed one foot on the yoga mat under his feet and cast another discerning eye around the room. It could get very busy, he knew, having walked past several times on his way to lunch, but right now it was eerily still. Somewhere on the other side of the room two agents plodded resolutely side-by-side on a pair of running machines, and there was one solo elliptical user, but Junkrat and Roadhog were alone at the weights. 

“Another.” Roadhog’s voice interrupted his thoughts, and Junkrat added yet another set of enormous disks to the already plentiful barbell. 

He watched with grudging admiration as Roadhog continued with his set. “Lookin’ good, mate.” Roadhog grunted in acknowledgment, sweat streaming down his forehead. “Harder than it looks.”

They continued until Junkrat ran out of weights to add, and Roadhog was red with exertion, before carefully replacing the equipment (at Roadhog’s insistence). Roadhog hefted his gym bag over one shoulder and together they made for the exit. 

As they passed the water fountain, Junkrat spotted the woman from the elliptical bending to fill her water bottle. He slowed involuntarily as they passed, head turning to watch her straighten up in a pair of _very_ flattering yoga pants. Roadhog gave him a playful punch on the shoulder and Junkrat turned to flash a sheepish grin and a shrug.

“Oh, hello!”

“Huh?” He turned, and found himself face to face with Symmetra. 

She was still breathing heavily from her workout, her breast rising and falling and sweat gluing her untidy hair to her forehead. As she lowered the water bottle, a single trickle of water slid down her chin to mingle with the sheen of sweat over her collarbone and chest. 

She smiled at them, passing a hand over her head to sweep a hair from her face. “I’ve not seen you down here before.”

It took Junkrat a few seconds to find the words to say, “it was Roadhog’s idea.”

Roadhog shrugged and gestured vaguely in the direction of the weights. “Stayin’ on top of stuff.”

Symmetra nodded at him, shifting her weight onto one foot to cock her hip to the left. Her grey gym top left her glistening midriff bare, and it took all of Junkrat’s focus not to stare at it. “That is wise. It does get very busy here after midday.”

Neither Junkrat nor Roadhog seemed able to come up with a suitable reply, and after a couple of awkward seconds Roadhog shifted his bag and gestured to Junkrat. 

“Oh, right,” he said with a start, tipping two fingers to Symmetra. “Nice catchin’ ya but we best be…”

“Of course,” she smiled, raising her water bottle once more. “I hope you enjoy the rest of your day.”

Roadhog waited until they were out of sight, and then twisted Junkrat’s ear between finger and thumb.

“Ow, ye dickhead!” yelped Junkrat, leaping out of reach as if electrocuted. He clapped a hand to his ear. “What was _that_ for?”

“Starin’.” admonished Roadhog. “Ain’t polite.”

“Oi, c'mon,” he grumbled, rubbing the side of his head sulkily. “Like you weren’t too.”

Roadhog made a soft noise behind his mask that could have been interpreted as a laugh. 

\---

A storm had risen by nightfall, and it was an angry one. Junkrat and Roadhog, who had yet to experience the ferocity of the hurricanes over Gibraltar, had sneered at Winston’s refusal to let them go outside, but after some persuading had reluctantly slunk back to their rooms. 

They’d sat up for a while, sharing beers and staring out the window at the black sky and horizontal rain, before Roadhog had stood up, stretched, and stumped off to his room without a word. 

By midnight, Junkrat lay alone in bed, sheer boredom driving him to the privacy of darkness and his own hand around his cock. It was always a rough, uncomplicated process for him, during which he usually conjured up a fuzzy memory of past fucks, or sometimes just a ridiculous cast of impossibly shaped women that did nothing other than get the job done. Living feral in Australia taught you to satisfy yourself hastily and get your trousers back up quick before the next bandit could stick a gun down your throat. 

He was nearing the end; his strokes became swifter and more aggressive, the other hand pressing the pillow into his face to stifle his breathing. “Ngh…gh…” He felt his breaths coming sharper and quicker, when suddenly, unbidden, an image swam to the surface of his mind, clear and crisp as water in sunlight. 

As his foot ground into the mattress, he found himself picturing Symmetra post-workout – he recalled in appalling detail her flushed, sweaty face; the hair sticking to her temples, and the heated panting of her breathing. Before he could even pause to question this, he came with an agonising intensity that released a groan that ended in a whine. 

For a minute, Junkrat could only gasp and wait for his heartbeat to cease pounding against his eardrums. He lay panting in the dark, feeling his drying liquid stiffening on his skin. He’d never felt anything like that before; he felt incredible, but also confused, and slightly ashamed. What had just happened? Clumsily his mind grasped at thoughts but he was unable to make sense of it. 

The most he could manage was to hastily wipe himself clean and pull the duvet over his head, before sinking down into chaotic, heated dreams.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies if my chapters are a little disjointed! I'm struggling to strike a balance between descriptive writing and having stuff that's too wordy so feedback is welcome :)

If anyone had asked Junkrat over the following few days, he wouldn’t have been able to say why he wanted to avoid Symmetra. All he knew was that the next time he ran into her, in passing in the corridor, he’d been supremely unwilling to meet her eye. He felt somehow embarrassed, as though he had to explain himself to her, and it left him feeling frustrated and wary enough that he staunchly refused to accompany Roadhog to the gym for several days. It was only after he ran out of plausible excuses that he’d reluctantly returned, but to his great relief they had not encountered her. 

As if his worrying about Symmetra wasn’t enough, he also found himself overcome with a burning curiosity. Jerking off ranked slightly above a chore for him but now…he was constantly racked with a powerful desire and it was infuriating to say the least. Unable to recall the last time he’d experienced such intensity, whether alone or with a partner, he resorted to mentally chasing it with some desperation. 

It was this desperation that overwhelmed him one afternoon in the shower as he sat, incomplete without his prosthetics, on a wooden bench with the hot water cascading down his back and plastering his hair to his forehead. He was hard – again – and he screwed his eyes shut in frustration as he forced himself to slow his hand movements. It was astonishing how close he already was and he cursed himself for being so unbearably horny. 

He also cursed himself for allowing it to happen again. Somehow he found himself picturing Symmetra for the second time – only this time it was voluntary. Initially he’d resisted, pretended, turned his mind to other subjects, but it just didn’t work and it was with an almost relieved gasp that he fell back to that glorious image of her, damp with sweat and breathless. 

As he felt himself edging closer to climax, he groaned softly. For once, he didn’t want to. It was only now, in the deepest throes of pleasure, that he felt no shame about this ferocious lust for her, and he didn’t want to lose this opportunity to remember those gorgeous hips, those dark eyes meeting his over delicately pouted lips as she sipped, oh-so-gently, from that water bottle. 

Junkrat twisted and pressed his forehead against the shower tiles. His mind’s eye ran down that perfect image of Symmetra, drinking in her curves and resting on that flat brown stomach, disappearing tantalisingly into unfairly tight trousers. He gritted his teeth. God, he was going to hate himself later, but – the Symmetra in his mind became a Symmetra that shuddered beneath him, and she was panting at his touch instead, sweaty and slick with lust and fluttering her lips against his skin. 

That did it – Junkrat’s spine arched as he felt a release so magnificent, he saw stars. 

For a long while afterwards, there was silence broken only by the pattering of water against tiles and his own laboured breathing. Irritably, he dragged his hand down himself, and then slammed it against the shower to shut the water off. 

With only a little difficulty he hauled himself upright, shook his hair dry like a dog, and hoisted himself over to where his leg waited propped against the wall. Scowling, he reattached it, leaning heavily on one shoulder. 

Wrapping the towel around his waist, he stomped across the empty shower room floor. Briefly, he paused in front of the mirror, and his scowl deepened. With an abrupt, angry movement he ran a hand through his hair.

“Fuckin’ ridiculous,” he muttered to himself, and lumbered back to his room.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I still don't really have a solid plan for this, just vague ideas that I'm trying to link into coherent chapters :///

If Roadhog had noticed the suspicious increase in the number of showers Junkrat had started taking, he didn’t mention it. And it wasn’t like Junkrat was about to start confiding in him – how would he even start that conversation? He couldn’t even begin to articulate to himself his unbridled desire for the aloof architect that had yet to look at him twice. 

Hell, he’d even had the occasional dream about her, dreams in which she was warm under his fingers and soft against his mouth. One night he had a dream where he’d said something to make her laugh, and he’d lain in the dark for a long time, furrowing his brow as he tried to remember what it was. 

No, it wouldn’t do, he thought to himself as he stumped across the courtyard, squinting in the bright summer sunshine. She was at best a distraction, and at worst a vice. He’d have to find another outlet – maybe it was about time he started specs for a new explosive. The thought of this brightened him considerably as he pictured the magnitude of the explosion that he’d need to construct to erase Symmetra from his mind. 

His mind delightfully full of fire and smoke, he rounded the corner – and collided head first with something very solid. 

Pharah staggered backwards, clutching her forehead and clenching the other fist. “What in the – ”

Equally surprised and irritated, Junkrat regained his balance clumsily and glowered at her. “Watch where you’re going, eh?”

She drew herself up with haughty dignity. “I could say the same to you.” Despite being nearly a head shorter than he was she was nevertheless intimidating, and her eyes blazed fiercely. She was wearing a streamlined sports swimsuit that extended down to her knees but left her broad shoulders bare, and she squared them aggressively at Junkrat. 

He eyed her sculpted brown muscles warily. “All right, all right.” For the first time, he noticed the electric blue swimming pool sparkling behind her. He didn’t even know Overwatch had an outdoor pool. From its size it was clearly intended for laps and serious training, but right now it was littered with floats and even a rubber ring in which McCree was idling, his hands lazily paddling the water. The water looked incredibly enticing in the hot sunshine, but Junkrat took half a step backwards. He _loathed_ water, and never understood people’s obsession with dunking themselves the second the weather got the barest bit warm. 

Pharah had grudgingly acknowledged his attempt at an apology, and was standing with her hands on her hips at the poolside. “Jesse! I want to do my laps.”

McCree rotated slowly on the spot, his face hidden by his hat. “M’no trouble.”

“You’re taking up half the pool.”

“So use the other half.”

“She’s not done either.” As Pharah spoke, Junkrat spotted a dark figure sliding through the water with outstretched hands. 

Symmetra sluiced through the surface, her dark hair fanning out behind her. “It’s all right, Fareeha, I need to get out.” Placing her palms on the poolside she hoisted herself up, water streaming off her black swimsuit. 

Junkrat felt his belly turn over as he watched her stand up straight, the sunlight gleaming on her long brown legs. She turned as she wrung her hair out, and caught sight of him. 

“Are you here for the pool too?”

His throat worked and he had to force the word out. “Nah.”

“Oh.” She picked up a towel and dabbed at her face, where Junkrat was forcibly keeping his gaze. “That is a shame. It’s so lovely on a day like this.”

There was a silence, and he suddenly realised she was expecting him to say something. It was almost impossible to come up with an appropriate reply when he was mustering all his concentration not to let his eyes drift to the plunge of her cleavage or the line of her swimsuit creeping up her hip. 

Vaguely, he gestured to his prosthetic arm. “Not a good swimmer.”

“Oh – oh I…do forgive me.” She folded her towel over one arm and laid the other hand briefly on his forearm. “That was careless of me.”

He let out a laugh that came out much more high-pitched than normal. “Yep! I – just sink like a stone, I do!”

She looked slightly confused, and withdrew her hand to press it into the material of her towel. “I _am_ sorry. I, er, didn’t mean – ”

“Oh! Oh, nah, dontcha worry,” he mumbled. “No ‘fence taken.” 

Her smile was one of relief, but that didn’t make it any less attractive. Inwardly Junkrat groaned to himself. 

“Well, maybe one day we could teach you.” She turned to the pool and attempted to catch Pharah’s attention. “Fareeha, I better go join Torbjorn. He needs assistance in the workshop.” Pharah only paused in her ferocious front crawl to wave an arm in acknowledgement before pushing off again to blaze through the water in a flurry of foam.

McCree gripped his ring as it bucked wildly. “Whoa there!”

“Enjoy the sunshine, then,” added Symmetra, giving him a gentle wave and striding off towards the changing rooms. 

In despair, Junkrat watched her go, mentally tracing the sway of her hips as she walked. He was doomed.

There was a splash as McCree floated past. “Checking out the goods there, Junk-boy?”

Junkrat flashed him an angry look, and stomped off to take his second shower of the day.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry I started a new job the other week so I've been pretty busy! but I still have plenty of inspiration so you guys havent got rid of me yet haha, i have too many headcanons to work with... come talk to me about them? spydertiger.tumblr.com

Joining Overwatch had introduced Junkrat to a whole host of new experiences, and shame was certainly one he was discovering in all flavours.

Right now he was feeling it in the angry hunch of his shoulders and the curl of smoke from his skin, and in the stern scrutiny of Winston as the ape towered over him. 

Winston’s gaze was multiplied tenfold by the group assembled in a small semicircle around Junkrat. Some were standing with their arms folded, others glowered at him furiously. All were sooty and smoking slightly. 

Awkwardly he shrugged and spread his arms in a conciliatory gesture. “All I’m sayin’ is – at least we know it was a success, am I right?”

“A success?” barked Winston, pushing his glasses up his nose with a little too much force. “You call blowing a hole through the wall a _success?!_ ”

“You _ruined_ half of the medical wing!” snapped Mercy.

“Knocked me on me ‘ead!” complained Tracer, who was holding a large ice pack to her skull.

“Disturbed mah nap,” added McCree.

“My workshop!” roared Torbjorn from around everyone’s knees. 

“All right, all right,” said Winston hurriedly, making soothing motions with his large hands. “I think we can all agree the damage was…extortionate.”

“Was the bloody point tho, weren’t it?” muttered Junkrat mutinously, stuffing his hands deep into his pockets and refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. Tracer and Lucio were the hardest to look at; he’d actually started to like them, and their angry expressions stirred a deep discomfort within him. He didn’t understand; normally, when he succeeded in creating a new genre of explosive, he felt elated, _incredible_. 

Now, he felt somehow hollow and full of shame at the same time.

He ground his teeth and cursed himself for making friends.

"Well, it means we can’t overlook this as an accident,” grunted Winston. “I’m laying full responsibility for this mess on _you_ , Mr. Fawkes, given that you seem to know exactly what you were doing.”

“That’s not fair!” retorted Junkrat, and he actually stamped his foot in frustration. 

“And why is that?” demanded Winston, his nostrils flaring dangerously. 

Junkrat pressed his mouth shut angrily. He wanted to yell, to scream, it’s not my fault! It’s her, it’s _her_ , she made me,I had to do it, because…because, well, _look at her!_ , and his gaze briefly flickered up to Symmetra’s cold expression. He wanted to point accusingly, to give her the blame she deserved. 

Instead, he quailed at the icy fury that was sharpening her features. She looked no angrier than the rest of the group but it was a chill that he felt deep in his bones. Great – he’d discovered yet another way for her to send shivers up his spine. 

“I see,” said Winston, when Junkrat remained stubbornly silent. “Well, rest assured, there will be a disciplinary hearing regarding this.”

“I volunteer to front it,” put in Mercy, arms folded disapprovingly. 

“And me!” yelled Torbjorn, brandishing his clawed prosthetic like a weapon. “The boy needs to rebuild that what he broke!”

“Mr. Lindholm, please…” As Winston turned to calm their engineer’s rage, the group slowly dispersed, still casting mutinous looks in Junkrat’s direction – although Tracer did give him a rue smile that he took to mean forgiveness. Sulking, he merely shrugged back. 

Symmetra was the last to leave. 

Junkrat failed to notice her presence at first; he’d slumped into an empty chair and was busy wheeling himself around the deserted meeting room in sullen silence. Only the rustle of paper made him glance up to see Symmetra carefully rolling a large blueprint sheet into a neat cylinder. 

She straightened up from the table and met his gaze coolly. 

His face flamed, but he glared stubbornly back. “What d’you want.”

“I’m merely collecting my work,” she replied, indicating the sheets. 

“Oh.”

“I’ve been working on a more resilient turret design.”

“Hm.”

She twisted both hand around the length of paper. “The prototype was quite elegant.”

“Yeah?” Junkrat fiddled furiously with the thumb of his prosthetic, and wished she would leave. 

“You blew it up, incidentally,” Symmetra added, running a finger down the blueprints. 

“Oh.” He wasn’t sure what to say. “Uh. Sorry ‘bout that.”

She scrutinised him with an unfathomable expression. “Why must you be so destructive?”

Reluctantly he raised his gaze once more to look at her. As he ran his eyes over her elegant, curved form and the appraising arch of her brow, he remembered with a flash of heat the sweat running off her jawbone, the pool water cascading off her thighs. Anger and desire broiled within him. “Why you gotta be the way _you_ are?”

For the first time, Symmetra looked mildly surprised, and he wondered if she’d detected the meaning behind his words. No – there was no way she could know – she _mustn’t know_ – how much he’d thought of her naked, that he’d imagined what sounds she’d make, or that this very morning he’d woken up rock hard picturing himself between her legs, her hands gripping the back of his head as she forced his mouth against her – 

He blinked. Symmetra was still staring at him narrowly, her head tilted slightly to one side. He may have imagined it, but he thought he saw her hands tighten ever so slightly around the roll of paper. 

“Well,” she said eventually, just when he couldn’t bear the silence for another second. “Let’s hope you find a more…appropriate outlet in future.”

He licked his lips. “I’ll think about it.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -shrugs into oblivion- i really dk what im doin man

Junkrat was doomed.

And this time it really felt like it. As he staggered along the dusty yellow street, clutching his bleeding forearm, he cursed Overwatch, and he cursed the assholes shooting at him from the rooftop, and he cursed Roadhog for being nowhere in sight – but mostly, he cursed himself. To run out of bombs like that…stupid, _stupid_. He knew he’d been slacking off lately, knew that his distraction had impeded on his efficiency in the workshop, but it was worse to have that carelessness manifested in real, tangible form. 

Gritting his teeth, he lumbered around a corner and hopefully out of sight of the enemy. The tiny wireless earpiece Winston had given him was long gone, destroyed in the first impact as Junkrat had thrown himself off the rooftop in a desperate attempt to avoid machine gun fire. 

He strained for the sounds of a jingling chain, or the throaty chatter of Roadhog’s gun. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been out in the open without Roadhog, and it was unnerving. His empty ammo sling fluttered uselessly against his bare chest and he felt his blood stiffening on his dusty skin. 

Just as he was wondering whether it was worth heading back to the drop off point, he caught the scrape of a boot and the click of a gun some distance behind him. 

Without a second thought, Junkrat threw himself on the ground, just in time to feel the bullets whip over his head. 

Scrambling to his feet, he resumed his clumsy scrabble for safety. “Roadhog! ‘Hog, where are ya mate?” 

The bullets pounded into the ground, sending dust and dirt flying, but thankfully the shooter appeared too far away to make a good shot. In a panic, Junkrat rounded the next corner – god, he _hated_ this maze of an Egyptian temple – and felt a sharp yank at his throat.

Someone had jerked him to one side by his ammo belt, with enough force to temporarily knock the wind out his chest. He found himself in sudden darkness, his back pressed against a surface that was rough, cold and stony. There was a hand over his mouth and another against his shoulder, holding him still. 

Furiously, he struggled, and was rewarded with a jab in the ribs. “Be silent!”

His eyes widened above his muffled mouth. “Symmetra?”

They were in a tiny alcove barely bigger than a cupboard – indeed, the floor was littered with shards of old pots and rubbish – and Symmetra had drawn a wickerwork screen across the entrance. She was staring intently through this now, her gaze slitted in the dark and spots of light peppering her skin. 

“Are you injured?” she hissed at him, slowly lowering her hand. 

“Just a scratch on me arm,” he whispered back, rubbing his shoulder where she’d pressed it into the wall. “Nothin’ serious.”

Her face was grim. “We cannot say the same for the mission.”

“Yeah...yeah, where _is_ everyone? Where’s ‘Hog?”

She opened her mouth to reply, and then suddenly shoved her hand against his face again. “Shh!”

In the agonizing stillness that followed, they both caught the distant thud of footsteps. The Talon agents moved heavily and brusquely, weighed down by their hefty ammo belts and ugly, brutish guns. It sounded like a large group, easily numbering five or more, and at one point they passed so close to Junkrat and Symmetra’s hiding place that their shadows slid maliciously over their faces. Symmetra tensed, and in the uncomfortably cramped conditions Junkrat felt her thighs clamp around his.

The heat rose in his face and he awkwardly tried to shift position without her noticing. His prosthetic arm scraped against the stone walls of their alcove, and the noise was deafening in the loaded silence.

Outside, the footsteps ceased.

“What was that?”

Symmetra thrust herself against him, driving her shoulders into his chest to keep him flat against the wall.

After an agonising pause, another agent spoke derisively, “You’re hearing things again, Reyes.”

“Yeah, let’s keep moving.”

“I’m telling you, I heard something,” snarled the first man in a low, gravelly voice. 

Junkrat closed his eyes and exhaled as slowly as he could. Sweat trickled down his spine and sand clung to every crease of his body, but nothing compared to the torture of Symmetra’s taut body pressed so tightly against him. Being trapped in a space barely two paces across forced them into intense proximity, and the heat of Symmetra straddling his thigh was all but unbearable; as she shifted her shoulders against him he felt the weight of her breasts press against his stomach. 

She was so close. Despite everything, he was not prepared to be so close, so _intimate_ with this woman – and with the agents hovering outside he couldn’t fucking move. Silently he moved his fingertips against the stone wall behind him and furiously fixated his mind on the cool roughened texture, anything to drive his thoughts away from the tickle of her stray hairs on his collarbone, the hot sweetness of her breath ghosting over his skin and the rhythmic rise and fall of their ribcages against one another.

“We need to group up with the rest,” said another man uncertainly. 

“There are still far too many of Overwatch alive,” retorted the other. His voice had a curious, hoarse quality, as though he could barely hold it together long enough to escape his lips. “I want to leave this godforsaken place with blood on my hands.”

“Come on,” replied a third impatiently. “The others are waiting.”

The group slowly moved on, although the first man could be heard growling irritably under his breath.

When their voices had faded to a distant murmur, Symmetra released her pressure on Junkrat’s tense, burning body. She leaned back as far as the tiny hiding place allowed, which still left her a mere foot from his face. He shifted his legs around hers. “Reckon they’re gone?”

“Maybe,” she whispered back tersely. “You must learn to be quieter.”

He opened his mouth to apologise, and then closed it, anticipating the rebuke for speaking once more. Instead, he subtly tried to readjust his standing position with the hope of removing that aching pressure of her legs against his. 

“Keep still!”

“They’ve gone!” he complained, keeping his voice low nonetheless. “Can’t we get out of here?”

“No,” Symmetra snapped back, one hand raised to her headpiece. “I’m still trying to get in contact with Winston. Until we know the area is safe – ” She broke off, frowning as she wiggled her hips from side to side. “Although I am in considerable discomfort, I must admit.” 

Junkrat’s eyes fluttered briefly closed as he felt her leg slide against his again. There was a brief flash of heat as her skin touched his through a tear in his shorts that he’d never bothered to repair – well, he was fucking regretting that now. 

“Junkrat,” she whispered, still fidgeting slightly. “I’m terribly sorry but I think there’s something in your pocket – could you just move it, or – ”

Against his will, Junkrat gave a nervous high-pitched laugh. “Ahh…Ah, f’fuck’s sake – ” He pressed his metal hand into his face but it did little to soothe the rising heat in his cheeks. 

“I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be _rude_ …” Symmetra hissed.

“No – I know, it’s just – ” Junkrat’s head thudded as though a firework were ricocheting violently around inside his skull. Right now he would have gladly taken the Talon agents out there over another unbearable second trapped in here.

“ – it’s just pressing into me, that’s all!”

“Fuck…noooo Symmetra, it’s – no…” He parted his fingertips to cast an eye down at her. Symmetra was glaring slightly, her face tilted up and oblivious eyes wide with confusion. She stared, taking in his reddened face, and her gaze briefly flickered downwards.

As realisation dawned on her normally composed countenance, Junkrat groaned and hid his face in his hands once more, waiting for the axe to fall. 

“What – ”

“It’s not my fault!” he blustered over her immediately. 

“Are – are you – ” He braved a peek, and saw she blushing almost as hard as he was.

He briefly reflected on how amazingly hot his face was considering the fact that all his blood appeared to be preoccupied elsewhere. 

Symmetra was staring at him with a vacant, almost shocked expression that was very difficult to read. His shoulders curved downwards slightly with shame. 

“It’s just…a tight spot,” he said in a small voice. 

She glanced down again, almost without realising she was doing so. “I can’t believe you.” She squared her shoulders flat against the wall, as though she could force herself through it away from him. 

“I can’t help it,” he snapped back, in an effort to hide how uncomfortable he was. 

“Do you - _enjoy_ being in peril like this?”

He gave a bark of laughter. “You think it’s _them_ out there that’s given me a ragin’ hard-on?”

She’d stiffened and looked even more embarrassed at his casual language. “Well – I don’t know! I don’t know what your – your vices are!”

Her unasked question hung heavy in the air as they stared at one another. Mortification and heat had made the sweat stand out on Symmetra’s smooth skin, and the beads glowed slightly under the crisp blue of her visor. He was overcome by a fierce desire to lean forwards and lick them off her top lip, and he wondered if he dared.

Symmetra stirred slightly. “…so, wh – ”

A burst of static from her headpiece interrupted whatever she’d been about to say. Wincing, Symmetra raised a finger and ran it over the buttons, and Junkrat just caught a tinny voice coming through the speakers. 

_“ – atya? Satya, is that you?”_

She let go a long breath and closed her eyes. “Yes!…yes, Winston, I’m here.” 

Their exchange was brief and to the point, and when it was done Symmetra had straightened up and coolly informed Junkrat that Roadhog was safe, and Overwatch were on their way to rescue them. After what felt like barely five minutes, the sound of ships’ engines outside caused Junkrat and Symmetra to nearly fall over one another in their desperation to be free of their tiny, uncomfortable prison. Once she’d pulled herself free, Symmetra had straightened up, dusted herself down primly, and cast him an unreadable expression. 

Then she’d turned on her heel and walked straight into the open ship door without another word.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the ship im kinda imagining a casual-ish style interior like the ship thats the spawn room in the game, only bigger so it has showers and bunks and stuff. I was pretty sleepy when i wrote this but think of like the quiet calmness/sleepiness of a late night airplane flight where it's dark and people are sleeping, like that's how this is set. anyway a bad chapter but thank you for all the support <3 you're all amazing!!!!

To the untrained eye, Roadhog and Junkrat’s reunion was somewhat lacking. As Junkrat clumsily limped after Symmetra onto the ship, his partner merely got to his feet and clapped a meaty hand to Junkrat’s shoulder. Junkrat in turn gave Roadhog’s gut a half-hearted punch before collapsing onto the nearest bench. It was silent and brief, but there was more in Roadhog’s squeeze of his shoulder than either of them could put into words. They were glad to see one another again. 

Roadhog lumbered over to Junkrat and settled himself down beside him. He was grimy and streaked with sweat, but otherwise unharmed. 

Junkrat cast an eye over him. “Where’s y’gun?”

“Broke,” intoned Roadhog, gesturing to a tray of metal debris on the nearby table. 

“How’d that happen?”

“Fell off a building,” grunted Roadhog. “Landed on it.”

Slowly, Junkrat’s face spread into a wicked grin. “Yer jokin’.” He slapped Roadhog’s forearm. “That’s fuckin’ hilarious, mate!”

Roadhog gave him a good-natured shove, and Junkrat toppled over with the momentum of the ship as it took off, lights flickering and books sliding around on the shelves. Roadhog didn’t apologise, but he did yank Junkrat back to his seat, and together they huddled around the sad flattened remains of Roadhog’s gun and set about trying to repair it

\---

The flight back was long and dragged far into the night, but the ship was large and comfortable, and the various party members had slowly dispersed into their own corners following a team-wide check up from Mercy. Winston sat huddled in the cockpit, barely speaking to anyone; he was clearly taking the failure of the mission hard. By contrast, Torbjorn had blithely clambered into the lowest bunk and was snoring fully clothed on top of the sheets. The lights had been turned down low, and everyone had entered a sleepy, relaxed state that was a welcome change from the day’s stress. 

Junkrat was squeezed in next to Roadhog at the table, empty food trays pushed to one side as they listened to McCree and Pharah recount their version of what happened. 

“-jes a disaster, really, a real mess,” finished McCree with a sigh, running his good hand through his hair. He had not changed and was reeking slightly of sweat and cigar smoke. He glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice. “Although best not t’mention that around Winston.”

“Yeah, what’s his problem anyway?” asked Junkrat, glancing over to the dark shape huddled over the controls at the top of the stairs. 

“Winston personally planned and deployed the operation,” interjected Pharah, stirring a cup of soup. “I think he feels responsible.”

Privately Junkrat felt that there was some truth in that, but Pharah made him nervous and he decided against voicing this. 

“Anyway,” continued McCree, leaning forwards. “That was me cornered, Pharah grounded, couldn’t get hold of neither Winston nor Mercy, really thought fer a moment that was gonna be it, felt like the undertaker was comin’ fer me, y’know?” He heaved a sigh and extracted a cigar from beneath his red cloak. “And then, who comes flyin’ down from the sky but yer big friend here?” He nodded benevolently at Roadhog. “Saved our skins.”

“You’re welcome,” rumbled Roadhog, which surprised Junkrat. 

McCree laughed throatily. “I guess it’s like they say – crazy things happen when pigs fl – ” He paused at the heavy scowl creeping onto Junkrat’s face and hastily coughed. “–er…anyway. Yeah, thanks.” Awkwardly he put the cigar between his teeth and chewed. 

Junkrat was still glowering at him when they were interrupted by Symmetra. Her arrival was preceded by a sweet flowery scent that had Junkrat casting around for the source until she dropped into the empty seat opposite. Her hair was damp and pulled back into a messy bun, and she was wearing a loose grey t-shirt and tracksuit bottoms. Without her makeup and many decorative pieces he thought she looked strangely delicate and bare, and beautiful. 

Pharah gave Symmetra a benign one-armed squeeze. “How are you feeling, Satya?”

“Better,” sighed Symmetra. “I’m just grateful I was not injured.” She wrinkled her nose and glanced to her right. “Jesse, have you showered?”

“Nope,” said McCree cheerfully, rolling his half-chewed cigar around the word. “S’a pain to get all the gear off and hafta carry off the ship later.”

Symmetra pursed her lips. “And so we all have to endure your odour?”

“Oh, c’mon now, Satya,” he purred, giving her a friendly nudge with his elbow. “It’s hardly _offensive_.”

Junkrat felt his scowl returning. Whatever warm feelings he might have felt towards Jesse McCree were rapidly diminishing on the spot. 

“Stop being a pain Jesse,” complained Pharah, leaning around Symmetra to jab him in the shoulder. “She’s right. You stink. Go shower.”

“All righ’, all righ’.” He heaved a sigh and squashed the remaining cigar stub onto the empty food tray. “As the ladies wish.”

“Get behind your ears!” Pharah called after his retreating back, her soup spoon clenched between her teeth. “Satya, I’m going to speak to Winston. Would you like to join me?”

“No, I don’t think so,” said Symmetra, and Junkrat’s heart leapt uncomfortably in his chest. “I think Dr. Winston will appreciate minimal company at the moment.”

When Pharah had gone, Symmetra turned to Roadhog and extended a hand. “Torbjorn told me your weapon is out of action.”

Roadhog grunted in acknowledgement and nudged the shallow box at the edge of the table. 

She hesitated. “ – I understand that you refused Mr. Lindholm’s offer of assistance. But would you like me to take a look at it?”

After a pause, Roadhog wordlessly pushed it towards her, and she began delicately laying out the fragments on the table. Throughout the entire exchange she had not so much as glanced at Junkrat despite him sitting directly opposite her. 

“I will be the first to admit that I’m not accustomed to your style of build,” she said, turning the main body of the gun in front of her face. “But I am quite skilled in delicate work, and I could help reshape some of the smaller components.” She carefully rotated to examine where half was barely hanging on by a screw. “I take it this is where the magazine should fit?”

“Yeah,” said Roadhog simply, and then indicated Junkrat with one thumb. “He designed.”

She finally moved her gaze to Junkrat, and a slight raising of one eyebrow was the only change in expression he was afforded. Weakly he smiled back. 

“I mostly keep stuff runnin’ right for me and ‘Hog,” he said tentatively, attempting a smile. “I can probably get that ol’ thing up and running again.”

Coolly she lowered the gun and met his eyes. “Ah. So you _don’t_ require my assistance?”

“What? Nah, you don’t hafta – that is, I mean…”

“I see.” Her fingertips were the only thing remaining on the gun as she sat with them barely poised on its surface. “I was under the impression that my skills were required.” As she spoke, her knee brushed against his under the table, so briefly that Junkrat was almost sure it was an accident.

He swallowed, wondering if he’d offended her. “Hey, nah, I mean – f’you think you can, be my guest. M’not too good at the fiddly stuff myself.” 

Apparently mollified, Symmetra resumed her assessment of the gun, occasionally pausing to select a tool from the box she’d plucked off the nearest shelf. As she gently pried the jammed screws free and ran an appraising finger over the worse dents and warps, Junkrat felt her knee gradually slide forward once more to rest against his. 

He had no doubt that the movement was entirely unintentional – she was utterly absorbed in her work, and seemed to merely be propping herself against him to better free her arms – but it made him feel hot and uncomfortable nonetheless. Drumming his metal fingers on the table, he cast his attention around for a distraction, but felt his gaze inexorably drawn back to Symmetra’s face.

She wore an unsmiling, hard expression that spoke of deep concentration not to be disturbed. Silently he watched her twist a tiny screwdriver between finger and thumb, oblivious to the stray strands of hair falling in her eyes, or the warm pressure shared by their legs. He sat up watching her under the dimmed lights until his eyes grew heavy and heard the deep rumble of Roadhog’s snores to his left. 

Symmetra remained wide awake, and she merely glanced up once at Roadhog. 

“Long day,” commented Junkrat drowsily.

“Mm,” she said shortly, and he felt her legs withdraw from his. “You should get some sleep yourself.”

“What ‘bout you?”

She half-smiled. “I am used to short periods of sleep.”

Junkrat sneaked a glance at Roadhog to check that the other junker really was truly asleep. He decided to chance it, and leaned over the table towards Symmetra. “Oi…listen…”

“I suppose you want to apologise for earlier,” she said flatly, not looking up from the toolbox. 

Her blandness took him by surprise. “What?” A small kernel of irritation formed in his chest. “What d’you mean?”

“I accept your apology,” she continued as though he had not spoken. “Although you shouldn’t worry too much. I’m willing to overlook it.”

“Hey, wait now – ”

“I’m only a bit surprised you get so readily distracted in the field. I won’t mention it to anyone but you should – ”

“Symmetra, would you fuckin’–” Angrily, he grabbed her wrist and pulled it away from the table. “– _listen_?”

There was a clunk as she dropped the screwdriver, and it seemed deafening in the slumbering ship. They stared at one another over the shrapnel of Roadhog’s gun, and as Junkrat felt her warm slender bones in his grip he wondered if she really was so truly oblivious as to write it off as a mere slight on his part. 

Slowly she prised his hand off and straightened her shoulders. “You have my attention.”

Suddenly Junkrat didn’t want it. Angry and abashed, he slumped down and clasped his arms across his bare chest. “I just – I weren’t apologisin’, all right?” He glowered at her. “Was just…making sure – I mean…wanted to know…”

Symmetra held a hand up. “As far as I’m concerned we have no more to talk about. This is nothing to do with me.”

He had to suppress a laugh. “Fuckin’ hell…I mean…” How was he supposed to put this into words, to tell her that it had _everything_ to do with her, and that alluring way she walked, and the perfect pout of her lips, and that enticing curve of brown skin she displayed above her stockings? 

Abruptly, Symmetra pushed the gun back towards him. “I’ve done what I can for now. It’s a little crude so I will need to think a little before I know how to proceed.” She got to her feet. “I will leave it in your hands for now.” 

Helplessly, Junkrat watched her stalk away down the silent aisles of seating and bunks. 

Next to him, Roadhog stirred. “Yer a fuckin’ idiot.”

“You shit!” yelped Junkrat, caught unawares. “I knew it, I _knew_ you were pretendin’!”

Roadhog shrugged. “Scarin’ the pretty girls away?”

“Yeah well,” grumbled Junkrat, shuffling to lay on his side along the bench. “Learned that one from you, didn’t I?”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO my first attempt at this chapter didn't work that well, and tbh I wasn't happy with it either! So here is a revamped version - less confusing and suddenly 102% more sexual tension because I came up with some new ideas. Hope you guys like this new version a little better :) Thank you for reading and all the kind comments, you guys are stars

Junkrat never thought he’d be glad to see the Gibraltar station again, but his bed made a welcome sight after the long journey. He would have been ashamed at the ease with which he sank into the freshly laundered sheets, but the comfort of a good night’s sleep overpowered all else and he was snoring within minutes. 

He awoke to Roadhog dragging the covers off him. With a groan, Junkrat sat up and ground the palm of his hand into his face. “Nngh…What’s goin’ on?”

Roadhog pushed a slip of paper into his face. “Message.”

It took Junkrat a few bleary seconds to focus on the impeccable handwriting. _Mr. Roadhog. I took the liberty of removing your gun to the workshop. I hope you do not mind. I have finished some preliminary repairs if you would like to collect it at your convenience. Yours, Symmetra._

With difficulty Junkrat moved his dozy gaze back to Roadhog. “So? You not happy?”

His bodyguard grunted. “Nice of her.”

“Well _I_ wasn’t gonna be messin’ around with that pile of shit, least not without the proper screws,” yawned Junkrat, scratching his armpit. “So ‘zat it? You want me to come down with ya?”

“No,” rumbled Roadhog, snapping his iron grip around Junkrat’s forearm and hoisting him out of bed. “I want _you_ to get it for me.”

“What?” yelped Junkrat, dangling helplessly above the ground from Roadhog’s enormous fist. “Why?”

“I want you to take a look at it too,” said Roadhog. He set Junkrat on his feet, but did not relinquish his hold. “Decide if it’s worth the effort.”

“Like hell!” shrilled Junkrat as he wriggled and thrashed like an eel. “You just want me to make a bloody fool of m’self in front of _her_ again!”

“Shut the fuck up,” said Roadhog cheerfully. “And get your ass downstairs.”

“All right, all _right_! Hey – hey don’t shove! Ow – hey, let me at _least_ get some clothes on!”

\---

Junkrat stood in the doorway fidgeting uncomfortably, one hand half-raised. He felt stupid – he, of all people, was worrying about knocking on a bloody door. He’d been here for several minutes now, pacing back and forth, approaching with a fist raised before chickening out and back down once more, shaking his head. 

This was so… _stupid_. Angrily he lowered his hand again and ran it over the metal joints of his artificial knuckles. He _knew_ she was in there, and all he had to do was walk in and collect Roadhog’s gun – heck, he didn’t even have to say a word to her beyond ‘g’day’, easy peasy.

So why did he feel as tense and anxious as though he were about to walk into a den of vipers?

Eventually, frustrated and confused, he threw manners to the wind and punched the neat little touchscreen panel next to the door. Shards of glass tinkled to the floor and the screen winked at him a few times with a little blue light, before dying with a melancholy buzz. The door obligingly slid sideways.

Irritably Junkrat stomped through – only to have the now broken mechanism slide shut on him. He yelped as it thudded into his side, pinning him in the doorway.

Symmetra glanced up from her desk. 

He felt his cheeks burn as her eyes moved over him, trapped awkwardly with one arm sticking at a bizarre angle. “Door’s broken.”

She pursed her lips. “I can see that.”

After a pause, he began struggling violently. With some effort he managed to get his other hand in between his chest and the door and began applying all his weight to it. Slowly, the door relinquished its hold on him, and he tumbled into the room, massaging his ribcage sourly. 

Symmetra watched all this impassively, offering no help other than extending a hand to him as he lay in a heap on the floor. Grudgingly he took it without meeting her eyes. “Thanks.”

“Where is Roadhog?”

Junkrat opened his mouth and shut it again. “Er – upstairs.”

For some reason she looked faintly cross. “My message was intended for him.”

“Aw, you wanted to see the ‘Hog?” he said, trying to inject a teasing note into his tone. It didn’t work. “Well, ‘fraid you’re stuck with me f’now, love, ahahah…hah…”

Symmetra stared at him, as though she didn’t get the joke. 

“Aha…ahem.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Um. Yeah. So – Roadie’s gun?” 

“Oh – yes. My repairs are – rough, and merely preliminary.” She appeared to rouse herself, and turned towards her desk once more. Junkrat followed her across the room and watched as she swept a single handful of pencil shavings to one side. “Excuse the mess…please, sit.”

Awkwardly he lowered himself into her desk chair and squinted at the paper stacked up to his left. “This the turret again?”

She looked surprised that he’d remembered. “Yes. It’s – coming along slowly.”

“Looks – good.”

“Oh.” Delicately she tucked a strand of loose hair behind one ear in a hasty, timid gesture that made his belly turn over. It didn’t help that she looked particularly pretty this morning, having apparently made the effort to put makeup on once more. 

He coughed and pulled the gun towards him. “So – er…”

“Ah, yes,” and she bent closer, leaning over him so that her long hair tickled his upper arm. “So – I reshaped the bent casing with Torbjorn’s guidance, and replaced the lost screws with some hard light copies – ”

Junkrat squirmed in his seat. She was too close, yet _again_. Every word she spoke he felt in his chest – he particularly liked the gentle roll of her r’s. As she gestured at each angle of the gun her hair danced over his skin and he felt the warmth of her waist agonisingly close to his face as she towered over him in the chair. 

“Mr. Fawkes?” She withdrew slightly, and stared down at him. 

He stared back. His innards burned. One hand curled involuntarily into a fist.

“Are you all right?”

Suddenly her proximity faded into unimportance. He surged upwards and snatched her wrist up, baring his teeth in a snarl. “What didja call me?”

Her voice trembled but she met his gaze coolly. “Mr. Fawkes.”

“Where did – where did you hear that?” he demanded, his own voice shaking slightly with anger. 

Junkrat never made any special effort to hide his real name from others. He barely used it anyway – Roadhog might occasionally spit it out like a swearword when Junkrat really pissed him off, but otherwise Jamison Fawkes had faded to become a distant, dissociated aspect of what he now called Junkrat.

That said, he didn’t exactly parade his old name around either, and he was deeply suspicious of how Symmetra, of all people, had come across it. It was _his_ , how dare this – this woman take away the last, the only thing, about him that wasn’t in her power?

“My mistake. Should I not use that name?” she said evenly, her eyes burning into his. In spite of himself, he blushed furiously. 

“Who told it t’you?” 

She tilted her face up defiantly, and suddenly they were very close. “No one. I read your file.”

He moistened his lips with his tongue and drew in a shaky breath. “Why – what gives you the fuckin’ right t – ?”

Briefly her gaze flickered to his hand, holding her wrist up near her shoulder. “Curiosity.”

He clenched his teeth. “You think curiosity gives ya free access to – ”

“ – intimate details about someone?” she finished, and her expression was entirely too knowing for Junkrat’s liking. 

He moistened his lips nervously and suddenly recalled that fleeting desire to run his tongue over her top lip.

Symmetra beat him to it. It was a painfully soft, gentle kiss that barely grazed his mouth, and he stood very still as though she were a butterfly he might accidentally dislodge. She withdrew slowly, her breath hot against the wetness of his mouth and eyes half closed.

“Still curious?” she asked quietly.

“God, yes,” he replied, and grabbed her for another kiss. 

Junkrat didn’t even notice Torbjorn coming through the door, but Symmetra evidently did because she slipped from his grasp as abruptly as though she’d melted. By the time Torbjorn succeeded in forcing himself through the half closed door she was innocently shuffling papers around on the desk as though nothing had happened.

“Who broke the door?” he huffed angrily, reminding Junkrat forcibly of a tiny red steam engine. 

“Junkrat,” Symmetra said lightly, and she flashed him a smile. He glared back, and hoped very much that his blush had died down. 

“Typical,” grunted Torbjorn, casting a disapproving eye over the junker. “Can’t trust you fer a minute, can we boy?”

“Oi – ”

“Anyway, ye best come with me,” he sniffed.

Junkrat bristled. “Why?”

Torbjorn gave him a slightly scornful look. “Ye hearing, of course!”

“My – oh, shit,” and Junkrat clapped a hand to his head.

“Did ya forget?” blustered Torbjorn, drawing himself up to his maximum height. He still barely reached Junkrat’s waist. 

“No – well, er – ”

“Well, come on then!” the engineer barked, and stomped across the room before remembering the door was broken. 

As Torbjorn cursed and wrestled with it, Symmetra darted across the room and caught Junkrat’s arm. “Excuse me – Mr. Fawkes…?” Her eyes flashed defiantly and he stared at her, torn between throwing her hand off, and pulling her in for one more kiss. 

“If it’s all right with you…could we finish this conversation another time?”

He swallowed. “Yeah! I mean – yeah…yeah, I – ”

“Come and find me.”

And she let go, leaving Junkrat to reluctantly squeeze out after Torbjorn. He wondered just how long a hearing could last.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im nearly done with this btw
> 
> sexy times soon so children look away now if you havent already thank u

There was something in the way Roadhog turned to look at him that made Junkrat feel as though he _knew_. But then, Junkrat was not exactly the most subtle of individuals, and the way he froze, half crouched in the doorway, had “guilt” written all over it.

Roadhog folded his meaty arms. “So?”

“So – what?” squeaked Junkrat nervously, slowly closing the door behind him. His heart was still pounding, the blood roaring in his ears. He felt as though he were looking at Roadhog but not really seeing him. 

His friend snorted, and it sounded distinctly pig-like. “Th’gun, ya fuckwit.”

Junkrat’s forehead creased. “The – oh.” His hand slowly dropped from the door handle. “Oh…er. Yeah.”

“It ready?”

“Um…” He screwed up his face, trying to remember. It didn’t work. How on earth was he supposed to remember what state the bloody gun was in? All his recollections of the workshop were eclipsed by the searing memory of Symmetra pressing her mouth against his, the feel of her waist, the tight grip of her arms around his neck. He closed his eyes and sighed involuntarily. 

His hearing had dragged on forever, and it had been very hard to take it seriously. Junkrat had spent most of it nodding vaguely without really paying attention, all the time fighting to keep his mind from drifting to Symmetra and what she might be doing. He’d barely even listened to the verdict - _“We’ve elected not to dismiss you, but you will be under strict supervision for the next few months of training, and you are forbidden from leaving the compound for this period.”_ \- before he was out of his seat and hastily out the door. 

He’d missed Winston’s disapproving tut as the door swung shut. “That boy is going to get us into trouble.”

“He is still just that, a boy,” Mercy had said sympathetically.

She could never have known that this was a sentiment she shared with Roadhog, who despite the image he carefully cultivated and his willingness to go along with Junkrat’s plans, was acutely aware that he was technically old enough to be Junkrat’s father. 

He tried not to think about this as he glared sternly at Junkrat. “So it ain’t ready.”

“No – I mean…” Junkrat shuffled his feet. “Look. Just – a lot happened, all right? I – I’ll get it tomorrah, I swear – ”

“What happened?”

“Eergh…” Junkrat scratched his neck awkwardly. 

“That Symmetra girl mad at ya?”

That did it. Junkrat’s face blushed a deep crimson. Roadhog knew he’d touched the root of the matter, but he said nothing. He merely folded his hands over his belly and waited. 

And, as he knew it would, it all came out in a rush. Junkrat told him about Symmetra’s advances in the workshop, and how the were rudely interrupted by Torbjorn. He told him about her final coy invitation, and the agony of waiting through the meeting with “that stuck-up boring lot o’ cunts.” He told him about how he rushed straight from the hearing back to the workshop, and a glorious reunion with Symmetra, another glorious kiss, and through it all Roadhog merely sat and observed in silence. 

Junkrat was very bad at retelling stories. He rambled in places, and left out key facts so that he had to jump back to them, and a couple of times lost his train of thought. He was crude and swore too much – but when he was struggling to describe Symmetra, and those kisses, his language became halting and nervously polite, and his eyes shone in a way Roadhog had never seen before.

It made Roadhog smile, deep under the mask. For the first time Junkrat temporarily looked like a normal 25 year-old, a lucid young man with a crush and nothing else to worry about. 

Junkrat had paused in his dialogue, slightly breathless with excitement. “So she likes me, Roadie, I really think she does! Or at least she’s into all this – ” and he gestured ambiguously at himself. “ – ‘leastways I’m not questioning it! I think I got a date!” He drew himself up with pride. 

Somewhere along the way Roadhog had lost the plot a little. “What?”

“I _mean_ ,” said Junkrat impatiently, stumping across the room to fling himself on the bed. “When I went and found her later, after the whole meeting fing, she said we should meet up again. Tonight, I think. She said I can find her tonight.” He paused. “She kissed me again after that.” He was unable to keep the grin off his face. 

“So,” said Roadhog slowly. “What does ‘find her tonight’ mean?” He was trying to picture Junkrat taking Symmetra out to a fancy restaurant, and the concept made his head hurt somewhat.

“Oh, you know,” said Junkrat impatiently, waving one hand in the air. “I just gotta go find her sometime after ten. She gave me her room number,” he added, patting his pockets. 

Roadhog shook his head. “So it’s a booty call.”

“No, it is a date,” said Junkrat, pointing one finger up to the ceiling. “Difference, mate.”

“Either way,” sighed Roadhog. “Sounds like I’m not gettin' me gun back.”

“Huh?” Junkrat was already not listening; he was lying flat on his back, rolling a cherry bomb between both hands as he stared distractedly at the ceiling. “What’s that?”

“Nothin’.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hello guys! first a big thank you to everyone saying kind things on my writing, it's really encouraging. I want to apologise for taking so long for an update here, and also apologise because this chapter technically isn't finished - i had at least two more scenes to add to it before I thought it would be done. Not one for making excuses but things have taken a turn recently and for the sake of my mental health I've taken a break from a lot of things, this story included. So please enjoy but also forgive me for not taking it further <3 thank you for all the support!!! this ship has the best community

Junkrat still hadn’t quite got used to the heat in Gibraltar. It was a thick, soupy kind of heat that was uncomfortably sweaty compared to the dry ferocity of the Outback, and most days it made him irritable and restless. 

Now he felt the sweat dampening the hair at the nape of his neck, but he barely noticed. His hands were desperately occupied with mapping the contours of Symmetra’s body; he grasped at her as though afraid she was going to evaporate from his lap, his fingers crumpling the blue of her dress. 

She drew a sharp intake of breath at his probing fingers and smiled into the kiss. “You’re incredibly eager.”

He couldn’t help but scowl at her tone of voice. “Somethin’ funny about that?”

Hastily she pulled back, her chest heaving as her eyes slowly refocused on him. A sardonic smile graced her half parted lips. “Oh…just – ” She shrugged, and moved a strand of hair from her sweaty forehead. “Sometimes I got the impression you – oh, I don’t know – ” Another kiss, this one brief and hot on his neck. “ – like you disliked me, or were afraid of me, or something.”

He lay back on the bed, propped up by his elbows, and stared at her, resplendent in his lap. She was straddling him with those fantastic thighs, the long skirt of her dress pooling over his bare stomach, and gazing back with curious heavy-lidded eyes. His eyes moved over the full moist lips and that lock of damp hair plastered to her temple, and he wondered if he _was_ afraid of her. Certainly _something_ made his heart thunder almost painfully in his chest and a small part of him definitely wanted to disappear and hide, and reduce her back to those safe, distant fantasies. 

This Symmetra, real and hot and slippery with sweat under his fingers, was far more dangerous and exciting than the one conjured in his mind. As he watched her she began to roll her hips gently, introducing just the right amount of pressure onto the bulge in his trousers. 

He reached up with a slightly trembling hand and dug his fingers into the clasps over her breast, a groan escaping his lips as she leaned down towards his neck once more. As she ran her tongue over the skin of his collarbones, occasionally just letting him feel the nick of her teeth, he let out another moan that turned into a snarl of frustration as he scrabbled more and more desperately at her clothing. 

Symmetra laughed into his shoulder as he temporarily forgot to kiss her back and redoubled his grip on the golden clips of the dress. He swore under his breath as he failed to pull her clothing open. “How is this s’posed to _work_?”

Still grinning maddeningly, Symmetra sat up straight once more and gently lowered his hands from her. “Perhaps I can be of some assistance, Mr. Fawkes.”

His stomach clenched at her use of his name once more; there was now something delicious and exciting at her daring and the mischievous glint in her eyes as she stared challengingly down at him. 

Symmetra removed her clothing with the air of someone unwrapping a particularly expensive gift; she brought the material up and over her shoulders with a slow, languorous grace that Junkrat knew he’d never be able to recreate in a million years. As she finished pulling the last of her dress over her head, her hair fell back over her brown shoulders in shining waves.

She smiled at Junkrat, and for the first time looked faintly nervous. As she sat astride him she looked surprisingly bare and vulnerable in just her underwear, and Junkrat knew he shouldn’t stare so much but by God, he couldn’t help it. 

Shyly she hooked a finger through one strap of her black lacy bra. “Is it too much?”

He blinked, blood thundering in his ears. He’d been privy to a surprising amount of her body already – the gym clothes, the swimsuit… – but there was nothing so intimate and breath taking as the sight of her in sheer black lacy lingerie – she was, he thought, running his hands reverently over the dip of her waistline, utterly beautiful. 

Symmetra’s breath left her in a shocked gasp as Junkrat suddenly gripped her around the middle and flipped her onto the bed, splaying his hands either side of her shoulders as he bent down for a hungry kiss. 

She shrieked with involuntary laughter as he bared his teeth against her neck. “Careful! _Please!_ ”

“I can’t help it,” he groaned into her, running a palm over her breast and grinning to himself as he felt the tip of her nipple against his skin. “You have no idea how long I – how much – ”

A hand at his belt buckle cut him off. Oh, Jesus. 

With an obliging wiggle of his hips Junkrat helped Symmetra lower his shorts and he grinned wolfishly as her eyes flickered down to his bare skin. “What, you were expectin’ something _under_ the shorts?”

Her lip curled. “Well, no…I seem to recall tight spaces made you uncomfortable?” His laugh was cut off by a kiss, and he leant into it, holding her shoulders down onto the bed and groaning appreciatively as she languidly stroked one hand up and down, gently coaxing him into a firm, powerful rhythm that sent spasms through his thighs. 

Briefly, he paused here, sitting above her and staring down at her half parted lips, the fan of her hair, and the ridiculously sexy peek of her nipples through the lace of her bra. He’d never used a camera himself but he suddenly very much wanted to preserve this image for ever – although, he wondered if it would be the same without the wonderful sensation of her hands around his cock. Symmetra smiled at his satisfied groans, and coyly took his good hand, guiding it down towards her thighs.

Obediently, Junkrat dipped two fingers down and explored her over the damp material of her underwear. This was something he wasn’t used to – he was only vaguely aware that sex wasn’t all about thrusting your dick – and he was tentative and nervous. As it turned out, this worked out perfectly. His touch was just gentle enough that she raised her hips as though asking for more, and he was rewarded with a long drawn out moan. 

He felt his dick twitch in her hand at the sound. Now _that_ was a moan – and one uttered in a voice that he felt sure he would be remembering for many, many future sessions of jerking off. As he eagerly continued to play with and tease Symmetra, her breathing began catching in short, high-pitched little gasps. 

Junkrat had pictured sex with Symmetra in so many different ways that he barely knew what to expect and he’d be lying if he didn’t say he was desperately nervous. He needn’t had worried. Maybe Symmetra had noticed his secret staring, maybe (although he didn’t dare entertain this thought) she’d been wanting him as desperately as he’d wanted her. Or maybe she was just frustrated after a long week of work. 

Whatever it was, she abruptly placed one hand on his own and pulled it away from her, only to arch her back and wiggle out of her underwear. 

She fixed her dark eyes on him, and her face was shimmering with sweat. It pleased him greatly. 

What happened next pleased him even more. Symmetra wrapped her beautifully long brown legs around his waist and pulled him against her – so close that her breasts pressed hard into his own bare chest – and she gazed at him with hard, determined eyes. “Well, Mr. Fawkes…are you – going to fuck me?”

He was one step ahead of her. He gripped the back of her knee with one hand and flexed her left leg back, splaying his other above her right shoulder. “I told you – ” As he pushed himself deep into her, she cried out once more and hooked her right leg tighter around him. “ – not to… _call me that_.” 

He entered her with a slow, decisive motion and Symmetra entangled her fingers desperately into the bed sheets as she writhed in pleasure. For a moment Junkrat lost himself in the moment, staring down at her, listening to her gasps, feeling her wonderful, slick heat around him and even – he turned his head and ran his tongue over the leg he held over his shoulder – yes, she even tasted divine, salty with sweat and a spicy musk that nearly drove him wild. Deep in the centre of his being he burned with a desire to just press her into the mattress and drive himself into her – all his fancy and tender masturbation fantasies had temporarily faded because, honestly, he just really, _really_ wanted to fuck.

But Symmetra was not of the Outback. She was not like him, rough around the edges and coarse to core. She was refined, cut like a diamond – a _queen_ , by his standards. And how does one fuck a queen?

He wasn’t sure, so he decided to take it slow and gentle. It was agony, he thought, bending over her and burying his face into the pillow beside her face, rolling his hips into her and listening to her gentle whines, but she was worth it. 

To his surprise, he felt her give a little wiggle underneath him and she freed her leg to better grip him tighter. Her own hips began to rock, not in time with him but faster, more aggressively.

Defiantly, her eyes flashed as they met his. “What part of ‘fuck me’ do you not understand, Mr. Fawkes?”

Well, one can’t refuse a lady.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> had a little break at home and am feeling marginally better, everyone was very kind to me after I stopped writing and I'm so grateful to you all for that :) i just felt like picking this up again for a bit. no plot really from here on out. probably just a couple more chapters of sex

Overwatch had kept Junkrat busy for the past week. He’d been dismayed to discover that, for the first time in his life, he was required to study.

He didn’t take to it well.

“Where’s yer papers?” demanded Roadhog one afternoon, throwing his own down on the bed. “S’posed to be reading ‘em.”

“I did,” said Junkrat nonchalantly, resting his elbows on the windowsill and closing his eyes in the cool breeze eddying in through the open window. “Load’a bollocks.”

“Don’t believe you.” Roadhog peered round the room. “Why’s it smell like burnin’ in here?”

Junkrat was many things, but a good liar was not one of them. He blew his cheeks out and scratched his nose. “Imaginin’ things, mate.”

“What’s this?” Roadhog upended the wastepaper bin, sending a still-smouldering heap of ash and paper fragments onto the clean carpet.  
“ – windy today, innit?” squeaked Junkrat, making a half-hearted attempt to lift one foot onto the windowsill, with the air of a dog caught in the act – if that act had been secretly burning important documents.

No, Junkrat did not take to the rules of Overwatch well, and it didn’t help that he was deliberately avoiding the training sessions scheduled in by Dr. Ziegler. In fact, outside of the occasional night-time wander with Roadhog, and scuttling down to the garages to pilfer spare parts, he barely left his room. 

He was loathe to admit it, but he was avoiding Symmetra.

Their night together was amazing – he could barely go a day without replaying it over and over in his mind – but once over he’d left her room rapidly and since then felt decidedly awkward, if not uncomfortable, about the whole thing. 

He felt somehow ashamed, secretive, and it made him irritable and restless. Once he’d bumped into McCree on the way past the canteen and had inexplicably reddened and shouted something defensive and incoherent, leaving the cowboy scratching his head in bewilderment. Junkrat felt like the whole of Overwatch knew – even though no one probably did; after all, would Symmetra ever admit to intimacy with someone like _him?_ He didn’t think so. 

Yes, best to avoid Symmetra until the event was far enough in the past that he could pretend like it had never happened. Things would go back to normal, he’d be able to look his fellow team mates in the eye again, and everything would be fine. 

Of course, for this to work, he’d have to stop furiously jerking off to the thought of her every day. 

If Junkrat thought that sex would finally soothe his urges, he was pitifully wrong; now that he’d seen her naked beneath him, felt her tongue on his skin, he wanted nothing else but to feel it again, and it was driving him even crazier than before. There was no predicting it; he could be innocently tinkering at his desk with a few scraps of metal, and suddenly he’d remember the long drawn-out moan she’d made as he’d first entered her, or the coy way she’d guided his hand up from between her legs to suck enticingly on his fingers, her eyes meeting his as she tasted herself on him – 

One morning he woke up almost painfully hard from just such a dream, vaguely aware through a hazy imagining of Symmetra touching herself for him – oh, she’d look _so good_ doing it too – that there was someone hammering at his door. 

He ground a hand into one eye, and didn’t bother sitting up in bed. Roadhog was probably making another of his attempts to get Junkrat out and about in the morning, and he _really_ didn’t feel like it. Not today, not when there was such a delicious image of Symmetra and his own rock-hard business to attend to. 

The door opened anyway, and he groaned his protest, pulling the pillow over his face.

“Someone’s got a bone t’pick with ya.” The deep rumble of Roadhog’s voice came distantly through the pillow.

“Is he a big fat wanker with no manners and bad breath?” grumbled Junkrat thickly, rolling over to present Roadhog with his bare back. 

“No,” snorted Roadhog. “She was right polite actually, you fuckin’ bogan. Be nice. I’ll leave ya to it.”

The door closed and Junkrat just had time to furrow his brow in confusion before a warm weight descended on the bed somewhere near his feet, and he caught the faint whiff of floral perfume. 

Abruptly, he sat up, remembered he was naked, and blushed hard as he hurriedly drew the duvet closer about his midriff. 

Symmetra regarded him coolly, her legs tucked neatly underneath herself and hands folded in her lap. Evidently she had just got out the shower – her hair was sleek and damp, and she was wearing a graceful silk dressing gown cinched tight about her waist. 

He swallowed; his throat suddenly felt very, very dry. “Hey.”

“Good morning.” She tossed a lock of hair over one shoulder with a deft flick, and the movement shifted the front of her gown so that it was suddenly dangerously low on her chest. “Your absence has been noticed this past week.”

“…oh yeah?”

She straightened her legs and crossed one on top of the other. The dressing gown didn’t quite cover her thighs – it was stupidly short, he thought crossly. 

“Dr. Ziegler requested that I check on you,” she said. 

“Why?” asked Junkrat suspiciously, whilst attempting to surreptitiously gather his bedding closer to his crotch, desperate to hide himself from her. 

Symmetra licked her lips. “She was under the impression that I was well acquainted with you.”

“Well acq – wait, does she know - ”

“ – that I stayed up late to help you read up on your missions?” she interjected swiftly. “Yes.”

“Right.” He frowned, opened his mouth, wondering if this was something he’d forgotten somewhere in a lapse in memory. 

“We spent all night on it,” added Symmetra pointedly. “The whole team were very impressed when they heard how hard you’ve been working.”

“Oh.” Comprehension dawned and Junkrat blushed even deeper. “So you _did_ tell ‘em?”

“I told them I was helping you read through the files,” she said simply. “After all, I did think my help was…needed.” She coughed. 

“Right, right,” repeated Junkrat, and wished she would leave. Under the duvet, his hands tightened around his own thighs; it was taking all his self-control not to throw himself at her and tear that pretty silk dressing gown from her body. 

There was a pensive silence, and if Junkrat were the type to notice these things, he would have observed the way Symmetra’s gaze flickered briefly over his naked torso, dipping down to his waist more than once, and the way her fingers clenched slightly over the material of her dressing gown. 

But he wasn’t, so he didn’t. 

“I just wanted to make sure you were…okay.” Symmetra coughed again and slid to her feet, hastily adjusting the tie of her gown. “And…um - ”

“Yeah?” said Junkrat, a little more brusquely than he’d intended. He was still thinking about what she looked like underneath the silk, and as she’d stood up it had slid _just_ high enough for him to wonder if she was wearing any underwear. 

She twisted one end of the tie between her fingertips, endlessly breaking and remaking loops in the material. “If you ever require…help with…your reading again, do let me know.”

Again, her eyes darted over his chest, and again Junkrat missed this.

He ran a hand through his sleep-muddled hair, frowning in confusion. “Uh, thank you? If I’m honest, I, uh, kind of…burnt it all. But yeah. Will bear that in mind. Thanks.”

For some reason Symmetra suddenly looked faintly disappointed. “Well then. I, uh…Hopefully you will return to the team in due course.” She strode elegantly from the room, long hair flying. 

Junkrat sighed and flopped back on the pillows. He wasn’t sure how, but he felt like he’d done something wrong. 

He was just working up the courage to sheepishly snake his hand down to the demanding throb between his legs, when Roadhog poked his head around the door again. 

“Still scarin’ the girls away?”

“Fuck off mate, I’m busy,” snapped Junkrat, yanking the covers up once more.

“Huh,” snorted Roadhog. “Then what was all _that_ about then?” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. 

Junkrat sank even lower into the bed, scowling at Roadhog over the covers, which had crept up to his nose. “What?”

“Well, she clearly wanted somethin’.”

“Same bloody story again, wanted me to get my readin’ done, din’t she?” Junkrat could feel himself getting cross. Roadhog was ruining what would have been a pretty good bit of private time – that image of Symmetra’s long brown legs disappearing into the shimmering gown was fresh on his mind, and he wanted to make full use of it. “She offered to help.”

“Christ.” To Junkrat’s intense annoyance, Roadhog began to laugh. He turned away, shaking his head.

“What?” demanded Junkrat, sitting bolt upright. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothin’,” sighed Roadhog, moving to close the door. “Yer so thick sometimes, Jamie…”

It was many hours later, in the middle of a particularly dull meeting directed by Winston, that it suddenly dawned on Junkrat what had happened – and he unintentionally announced this to the room with a single, loud involuntary exclamation, one that simultaneously characterised both his shock of realisation, and what Symmetra had really wanted that morning.

“Fuck!”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had finals for a long time and got too stressed to write
> 
> I've finished now so I took like five shots of tequila and finished this chapter that's been hanging over me for ages heyooo

To Junkrat’s surprise, he’d found he’d actually missed being allowed out on missions. Now that his brief period of punishment for the bomb was over, he’d been permitted to ride along for a simple recon job, and he greatly enjoyed being back on board the ship, surrounded by noise and activity. 

The assignment had been brief, barely more than a meeting really, but Junkrat still felt pleasantly fulfilled as the doors of the ship hissed shut on the dusty Spanish countryside and the engines started their plaintive drone. 

He’d been in such a good mood that he’d even agreed to Roadhog’s insistence that he shower with little complaint. 

Roadhog nodded in approval as a freshly towel-dried Junkrat collapsed into the seat next to him. “Better.” He grunted, and the eyes of his mask fogged briefly. “At least, you smell better.”

Junkrat grinned toothly, jiggling both knees. “Great to be out again though innit? Didn’t think I was getting sick of Gibraltar but…” He sighed and leaned back, linking his hands behind his head. “Makes me miss the old days. When it was just us two, goin’ anywhere we want.”

“You’re in a good mood,” commented Roadhog, scratching his belly. 

“Yeah…yeah, I am, aren’t I?”

“Any particular reason?”

He shrugged. “Just a good day, mate.” He frowned slightly. “I dunno. Just got a good feelin’ about today, y’know?” His hand scrabbled at his waist for his flask. “Let’s celebrate, eh? Boba, my trea - ” For a moment, his fingers scrabbled at bare skin, and then he sat up in confusion, casting about before climbing awkwardly over Roadhog.

“Get off!”

“You sittin’ on my drink?”

“No,” snapped Roadhog, lifting Junkrat off him bodily and tossing him back on the seat. “You probably left it in the shower.”

The ship lurched slightly as Junkrat stumped across the floor, and he wobbled clumsily before righting himself and disappearing to the shower area. 

There were two cubicles each hidden behind its own sealed door. The doors automatically sat closed for safety reasons, but when Junkrat reached out to pull the nearest one open, he found it locked. He ground his teeth in frustration. Someone more patient might have been content to wait to retrieve his boba, but that someone did not exist in Junkrat.

He banged one fist on the door, still jiggling the handle with his other hand. “Oi! Left me flask in there, open up!” Irritably, he pressed one ear against the door. Impossible to hear anything over the rumble of the ship. He resumed knocking. “Hey! Anyone in there?”

The door banged open and Symmetra appeared in a cloud of scented steam, a fluffy white towel clasped across her body. Her angry expression was swiftly replaced by one of cool indifference. “I am busy.”

All the air appeared to have been squeezed out of Junkrat’s throat. When he attempted to speak, his voice sounded unnaturally high-pitched. “I, er, left…something - ”

“Was it this?” She raised one hand, dangling the flask from its strap off one finger.

He swallowed and half extended his arm towards it. “Um…can I have it back?”

She looked at it thoughtfully, pursing her lips. “It was very sweet….what’s in it?”

“You tried some?”

“Mmhmm.”

“What d’you think?” asked Junkrat stupidly, forgetting for a moment that he wanted it back, and that she was standing in front of him in nothing but a towel. 

Unexpectedly, Symmetra smiled. “Very enjoyable. If a bit unusual.” She turned and placed the flask on a tiny shelf in the wall of the cubicle, before crossing the two strides across the floor to the shower.

Without thinking, Junkrat stepped in after her, reaching out for the flask – and the door swung shut behind him. He gave a squawk of surprise, glanced once over his shoulder, and snatched up his tea.

It took a moment for him to remember where he was, and he blinked at the tiny room. The cubicle was barely four feet square of floorspace – just enough for a little bench, a mirror and sink and shelves. The rest of the space was taken up by the shower, separated from the rest by a transparent sliding door. Symmetra had resumed her shower without bothering to close this. 

Junkrat wasn’t quite sure how to react. He was clutching the flask almost defensively to his chest, staring at her as she stepped back under the steaming stream of water, her long dark hair plastering itself against the curve of her spine. She turned gracefully on the spot, apparently heedless of his presence, tilting her neck to catch the droplets. 

Her gaze caught his over her shoulder, and they stared at one another for several agonising seconds. The patter of shower water filled the silence. 

“Sit down,” said Symmetra eventually. Her tone was soft, but somehow warranted no refusal. Junkrat practically collapsed into the tiny bench opposite the shower; he wasn’t sure if his knees were even capable of holding him up anyway.

Calmly, Symmetra bent down and retrieved a tiny bottle of shower gel. She didn’t look at Junkrat as she upended a small pool of pearly white liquid into her palm. 

He was looking at her, though. Heck, looking, he was staring unashamedly, drinking in the sight like one dying of thirst who’d seen a cold drink for the first time in days.

In a way, that wasn’t too far from the truth. 

The blood in his veins burned like fire as he watched Symmetra lather her naked skin in soap bubbles. He was so intent on watching the smooth streams outlining her breasts and streaking the length of her thighs that it took him a few moments to realise she was speaking to him. 

“ – and after what…happened…between us…Well I just worried I’d made you – uncomfortable.”

The ridiculousness of the word hung in the steamy, perfumed air and Junkrat let out an involuntary bark of laughter. “Uncomfortable? Bit late for that now, isn’t it?”

She flashed him a sharp look, turning to rinse the last of the soap from her stomach. Then her face softened into an amused, if slightly mischievous, smile. “We are rather in the habit of misreading each other, aren’t we?”

“Um, Symmetra?”

“Hm?”

He shuffled uncomfortably where he sat, acutely aware of how tight his pants felt. “Why – why am I sitting here?”

The shower handle squeaked slightly as she twisted it off. In silence, Symmetra stepped out and began elegantly towelling herself down. She took her time with it, bring the towel slowly up and down each leg, across her midriff, and bending over briefly to squeeze the last of the water from her long black hair.

Junkrat watched it all in silence, and his stomach burned. 

She stared haughtily down at him as she finished rubbing her neck dry. “Do you want to leave?”

“No – uh, I don’t think so - ”

“All right.” Carelessly she let the towel fall to the floor and with a deft, fluid motion hooked her leg across his and lowered herself to straddle him where he sat. 

The blood roared in Junkrat’s ears as she bent close and met his eyes. “And what are you thinking now?”

“I don’t think you wanna know,” he said hoarsely, shifting under her weight.

“I rather think I do,” she breathed back, deftly unfastening his shorts and tugging his erection free. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot.”

He exhaled through his teeth. “Been thinkin’ about you too - ”

“Show me.”

And she gently guided his own hand down to his cock, her nimble fingers encouraging his own to curl into that familiar position around his shaft.

Automatically Junkrat raised his other hand to her chest, eager to stroke and touch her once more, to bring out those delicious little moans she made, but she stopped him. Her eyes burned into his – her meaning was clear. Look, but don’t touch. 

“Show me,” she said again, her voice low and urgent, and she rocked her hips a little so that he felt her hot wetness agonising close to his groin. 

He wouldn’t have been able to resist even if she hadn’t asked him, and in such a dirty, sultry voice as well. At first he began slow, with small, almost restrained movements. Despite how turned on he was, somewhere inside he remained slightly shy, maybe even ashamed. Previously he’d jerk himself off to Symmetra in private, in secret. She wasn’t to know.

And now here he was with her in his lap, touching himself while she watched.

Nervously he raised his gaze to her face. She was watching him with a fiery expression he’d never seen on anyone before – and it sent thrills up his spine. No one had ever looked at him with such – such _hunger_ before. 

“Do you – do you touch yourself regularly?” she asked, her voice still quiet.

He wasn’t sure what the right answer was. Best to be honest. “Y-yeah…I mean – well… since you, nearly every day.”

Her eyes glittered. “Because you wish to touch me again?”

“Yeah. Yeah, Sym, please - ” He raised his other hand again, and she batted it playfully away.

“You are so _impatient_ ,” she purred teasingly, shifting her knees slightly to widen her stance over him. “Has no one ever taught you how to romance a lady?”

“And I suppose you’re gonna be the one to show me?” he retorted. He’d meant it as a jibe; he hadn’t expected her to slip her own hand between her legs. 

He’d fantasised about this before, of course, many times, but nothing he could conjure up in his wildest daydreams matched the feeling of her breath hot against his ear, the sound of her moaning his name as she matched him in pace and passion. In a strange mix of fascination and lust he watched her deftly move her fingers over herself, moving with a pace so gradual and graceful it was almost artistic to watch. Her spine curved as she found a particularly sweet spot and he saw her fingers begin to move more frantically, her other, prosthetic, hand coming to fondle her own breast. 

The combination of being so incredibly turned on and the quickening speed of his own hand was almost too much to bear, and he could only helplessly whine in her ear, “I want to fuck you _so_ badly.”

At that, she crashed her lips against his and they kissed, violently, untidily, until Junkrat was almost crazed with want. He could feel himself edging closer, and he wondered wildly what to do – he’d never finished in the presence of a woman without being inside her before. 

Before he could reflect on this any further, Symmetra beat him to it. She broke the kiss but her lips remained pressed against his jaw as she began panting heavily. “I think – I – I’m going to - ” Her sentence was cut short with a cry as she arched into him, and he felt her shudder against his very bones. 

He caught her with both hands as she slid from his lap to the floor, still breathing heavily. “Are – are you okay?” He’d never seen a woman orgasm like that before. It was only now starting to occur to Junkrat that he might not be as sexually experienced as he’d previously thought. Symmetra was rapidly becoming his first in a lot of things. 

“Yes…yes, I…” She rested her head against his inner thighs and smiled gently up at him from the floor. She reached for him with one shaky arm. “Let me just…”

“Oh – nah you really don’t have t – ooookay then…” Junkrat’s sentence ended in a long drawn-out moan of pleasure as Symmetra took his entire length in her mouth, deeper than he would have thought her capable of. “F-fuck…Symmetra - !” He tentatively let one hand rest on the back of her head and she made an amused sound. Her voice sounded thick and muffled with his cock, and the thought gratified him. 

He would have happily sat like that for hours, with Symmetra between his legs running her tongue up and down the most sensitive parts of him, making his shoulders cinch and his toes curl in pleasure. But she had built him up too much and it wasn’t long before he instinctively gripped her still-damp hair tight in both hands and came hard in her mouth. 

Junkrat was spent. He sat back and panted in the steamy shower air, still astounded that he could be so drained after not even actually having sex. Running a hand through his sweaty hair, he stared down at Symmetra. She was resting her head against his thigh, delicately wiping the corner of her mouth with a thumb. A smile crept onto her face as she met his eyes. “Happy birthday.”

He thought for a second, in his post-orgasm delirium, that he’d misheard her. “Beg pardon?”

Symmetra seemed ready to stand again and she straightened up, picking her towel up as she did so. “Happy birthday. According to your file, anyway, _Mr. Fawkes_.” She wrapped the towel around herself and began combing her fingers through her long hair. “You should get back to Roadhog. Don’t forget this.” She pushed the boba into his hands and unlatched the door for him. 

In a confused daze Junkrat tumbled into the corridor and heard the shower door snap shut behind him. He stared blankly down at the bottle in his hands, and then back up to see McCree staring back, a towel and toothbrush in his hands. 

McCree’s eyes darted from Junkrat to the closed door, and a toothy grin slowly split his face. “Don’t tell me - ”

“Push off,” snapped Junkrat, shouldering him to one side and stomping off. 

“You took yer time,” was all Roadhog said as Junkrat collapsed into the seat next to him. “Nearly home.”

“Yeah, yeah I guess so,” said Junkrat distantly, clearly not listening. “Hey – listen, ‘Hog, um - ”

“Spit it out.”

He turned to face his friend. “Is – uh – is today my…birthday?”

There was a silence, and then Roadhog unexpectedly guffawed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Christ, your memory really is on the fritz, ain’t it?” He took the canister from Junkrat’s hands and unscrewed the cap. “Didn’t think you’d remember. Happy birthday, mate.” So saying, he pushed the mask up slightly and took a deep swig. 

“Huh.” Junkrat scratched his head as he processed the thought. “Can’t believe I forgot.”

“I suppose I gotta get you something now, eh?” grunted Roadhog, tossing the flask back at him. “I’m shit at presents.”

“Nah, I reckon I’ve had my fill of birthday presents,” said Junkrat, with what he clearly thought was an enigmatic wink. He settled back with his arms behind his head, grinning smugly to himself.

Roadhog sighed, and flicked him in the forehead with one massive finger. “Yer fly’s undone, Jamie.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> basically i just wanted to write one little bit from Symmetra's POV, set just after they were rescued from Temple of Anubis (chapter 5/6). hope the timeline isn't too confusing. this isn't really a coherent planned fic anyway it's just lots of disjointed sex scenes
> 
> i lie i basically just wanted to write Symmetra's sex dream

Symmetra had made a concerted effort to be at least civil to Junkrat from the very beginning. She had first-hand experience of being the newbie on the team, and Dr. Winston had specifically mentioned his file to her, with the understanding that she might be interested in his design work. And he hadn’t been wrong – the few scraps of paper stuffed into his folder had been surprisingly intricate and pleased her very much. 

That said, he was difficult to be pleasant to at times; her attempts at smiles and friendly conversation had been met with confusion at best and irritability at worst and over time she began to wonder if she’d perhaps done something to offend him. It was unthinkable – she’d been ever so careful with her words and mannerisms, but then again, he was Australian, wasn’t he? Perhaps there was some nuance she was missing. Or maybe he just didn’t like her.

At least, that was what she’d decided, until the day she saved his life in Egypt. 

On her first night back she’d lain curled on her side in bed, staring unseeing into the darkness. She was attempting her familiar mind-clearing ritual that was so useful on sleepless nights such as this, but for some reason it wasn’t working tonight. 

Irritably she turned onto her other side, black hair flicking untidily over the pillow. She knew why it wasn’t working; she was still angry, angry with Junkrat, and for the way he’d embarrassed her so. Miserably she bit her lip and reflected that, perhaps, she was also a little angry at herself for how rude she’d been to him afterwards. He hadn’t _really_ intended for things to go the way they had, had he? As she thought this, an image of his sweaty, dusty face flashed into her mind and she scowled to herself.

No, she couldn’t exactly blame him for his – his… _excitement_ , could she? Men couldn’t help themselves really, could they? (Was that really how it worked?) 

Again, she remembered the delicate bloom of pink across his cheeks as he looked down and away from her. She herself blushed at the memory of how…how _hard_ he’d felt. No wonder the poor boy had been so embarrassed. 

She rolled back onto her other side. Perhaps she should apologise to him tomorrow; she had been a little brusque after all. 

Another turn (she was becoming quite entangled in the covers). But then again, why should she apologise? It wasn’t her fault that he lost composure like that, that he couldn’t control himself…

The thought of Junkrat losing control sent a little tremor up her back and she drew the blanket tightly over her head like a hood. Really, he had been ridiculously hard – what could possibly have been going through his mind to elicit such a reaction?

She was still dwelling on such thoughts when she finally drifted into fitful sleep. 

The first thing she was aware of was a familiar, slightly sour smell of male sweat and dirt, quite unlike the sharp floral scent she kept her own room doused with. There was a heavy, hot weight pressing down on her and then she felt the rush of cold air as someone peeled back the blanket to lay bare her neck and shoulders.

A gasp escaped her as the night chill was replaced with the searing heat of the man’s mouth at her neckline and she squeaked uselessly as she wriggled to extricate her arms before he could kiss his way down to her chest, where he was already pulling her vest down to expose her further. 

She was too late, and her hands feebly patted against his shoulders as he ran his tongue over her left nipple, slowly and languorously. 

“That’s enough,” she whimpered, pushing against his chest, but he was too strong.

He met her eyes, and his almost glowed with eagerness in the darkness. “I’m not done yet.”

“What are you doing in here?” she cried, suddenly recognising the shadowy outline of Junkrat’s bare-chested figure. 

Already he was sinking lower and pushing her thighs wider open with his broad shoulders, no longer looking at her face. “Don’t ask stupid questions, Satya.”

It was then that she knew this was a dream, because no one ever used her real name, and certainly no one had ever used it so dismissively, in that rough, radiation-ruined voice before. “Oh…say that again,” she whispered, splaying her arms above herself on the pillows. She could feel the wet tip of his tongue as he nibbled his way up her inner thighs.

“Satya…oh, Satyaaaa…” His drawling accent almost made it sound mocking. “D’yer want this, Satya? Good girl like you? Surely not…?” Just the barest flick of his tongue against her soaked underwear.

“Yes…no…” She mumbled incoherently in her delirious lust. “I mean…I am good…proper – sensible!”

“I’m not,” he sneered, and pushed her clothing aside to run the length of his tongue along her, making her whine as he finished with just a little extra pressure on her clit. 

“Yer a mess,” he growled between her legs as she shuddered and keened. He pushed two thick, callused fingers inside her, making her cry out first in protest and then in ecstasy as he followed up with the flat of his thumb against the clitoris. “I’m gonna fuckin’ ruin you.”

The casual, foul-mouthed way in which he said this made Symmetra almost melt with arousal, and she half wanted to beg him to do so. But something about his smug expression made her instead say, “you’re getting my sheets all dirty.”

He paused and looked up at her, dishevelled, sweaty and very, very sooty. The sharp-toothed grin that cracked his face was equal parts frightening and disarming, and it made Symmetra’s heart thunder in her already burning chest. 

Next thing she knew, he had flipped her onto her front and was pushing her into the mattress with one hand, the other still dipped between her legs and now working at her slick wetness with a pace that made her moan desperately.

“Listen how you moan, Satya,” he breathed in her ear, breath hot and fetid. “You wanna talk about dirty?” As he spoke he withdrew his hand, making her whimper in protest. 

She heard the rustle and jingle of him undoing his belt and scarcely had time to draw breath before he pressed his erect cock between her buttocks, sliding gently up and down with a grunt of pleasure.

“You want this?”

“Yes…” she murmured headily, and she spoke this out loud in her dream, her fingers tightening in the already dishevelled bedsheets. “Yes, oh…yes…”

That was the last thing she remembered, before waking to sweat-drenched bedding and an aching throb between her legs. 

It took Symmetra a few seconds to realise she was alone in bed, and that sunlight was streaming in through the half-open curtains. Somehow waking up alone was more embarrassing – she had no one with which to share the misdeeds of the night – she herself was fully accountable for all that dirty talk, this wetness in her underwear. 

She ran a shaky hand through her damp hair and closed her eyes, breathing deep. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had such intense thoughts about someone like that, and although later in the day she was sure to feel more than a little self-conscious about it, right now she relived the imagined feeling of Junkrat between her thighs.

She wondered when she’d next see him again. They certainly had a lot to talk about.


End file.
